


You've been struck by

by shuttermutt



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Swimming Pools, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:10:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuttermutt/pseuds/shuttermutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They’re all pretty sure the lifeguard isn’t actually a real lifeguard. If someone was drowning, he probably couldn’t save them. He doesn’t even look like he could swim for more than five minutes before getting tired and probably drowning himself. But he does sit at the lifeguard’s tower, with a white vest and tiny red shorts and a whistle around his neck, so they have to give him the benefit of the doubt.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>or:</p><p>Harry Styles is an unlikely lifeguard and Zayn Malik fucks him in a pool house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've been struck by

**Author's Note:**

> Someone on Tumblr tagged a post with Harry being a saucy, naughty lifeguard and I saved the tags but not the post? And then wrote this. So. To whoever that was, here you go! Hope it's...adequate. Set in a world where STIs don't exist, so condoms are irrelevant. Zayn is technically eighteen and Harry is technically seventeen, so technically there is sex with a minor, but it's consensual.

They’re all pretty sure the lifeguard isn’t actually a real lifeguard. If someone was drowning, he probably couldn’t save them. He doesn’t even look like he could swim for more than five minutes before getting tired and probably drowning himself. But he does sit at the lifeguard’s tower, with a white vest and tiny red shorts and a whistle around his neck, so they have to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“He’s whiter than me, though,” Niall says doubtfully, taking a sip from his coke bottle. There’s rum in it, which is the only reason he agreed to come out to the pool in the first place. “And I’m pretty pale.”

Zayn flops down onto the chair beside Niall, grimaces because the hard plastic isn’t particularly comfortable. “You’re Irish, though. You’re genetically predisposed to paleness.”

Niall doesn’t miss a beat throwing a balled up pair of trousers at him. “That’s racist.”

“Is it racist?” Louis asks, flipping the page in his magazine. There’s a spread for a model he’s had his eye on for a while and he tilts his head to the side to scrutinize it. “I mean, if it’s true.”

“This is a weird conversation.” Liam is frowning down at his chest while he puts on sunscreen, as if he needs it. He never burns, no matter how long they stay out. “Why do our conversations always get weird?”

Louis shrugs. “We’re sort of weird, then, aren’t we?”

Liam seems to find that a reasonable explanation and moves on to coating his arms. Zayn pushes his sunglasses up higher on the bridge of his nose, surreptitiously watching as the lifeguard stretches out on his seat at the top of the tower.

-

“I’m pretty sure there are laws against that,” Liam says, sounding impressed despite himself. They’re at the pool again, because it’s summer and there’s really nothing else to _do_ besides go to the pool. By now, they’ve got their own little spot all sectioned out and to their liking that no one else bothers with. It gives them a perfect view of the lifeguard tower and the lifeguard they’re all currently staring at.

“I’m pretty sure if you report him I’ll never stop hitting you in the balls,” Louis says back. He’s got another magazine featuring the same model, but his eyes are glued on the tower. It’s not hard to figure out why.

The lifeguard doesn’t have his vest on, today, but he does have his red shorts. Tiny red shorts, at that. So tiny they barely cover anything, but they’re probably not technically a speedo. It’s like he’s rolled them up or something. That’s not the part that’s probably illegal.

No. That would be the part where his legs are splayed over the sides of his chairs, making his tiny shorts go up even more. And, also the part where he’s blowing a cherry ice pop.

He’s got big Ray Bans on, so no one can see his eyes, but Zayn knows if he could, they would probably be mischievous. He’s been pushing it into and out of his mouth slowly for the past ten minutes, tonguing the tip like he knows what he’s doing. His lips are now as violently red as the pop. Sort of swollen, too. Probably from the cold.

Zayn is definitely half hard in his bottoms and he knows the rest of the lads are in mostly the same state. Even Liam, who is definitely not into blokes. It’s hard not to get turned on when someone is giving oral to something that looks like a dick, though, Zayn’s found. 

The kid’s definitely doing it on purpose. 

Is he a kid? Zayn has no clue. There’s no way he can be older than any of them. Not with the way he’s still got baby fat clinging to the pale line of his stomach and thighs. It’s not like it’s hard to tell, from the fact that he’s almost entirely naked for everyone to see. Louis’ the oldest, at twenty, and there’s no way the lifeguard’s any older than that. Limbs still too coltish and awkward, like he’s just had a growth spurt and has no clue what to do with the new length.

Well. No clue other than to perform sex acts on ice lollies instead of paying attention to the people in the pool, anyways.

Not that there’s really much going on. Zayn, Louis, Liam and Niall are probably the youngest people at the pool, and it’s fairly empty for being the middle of summer. People come to the club more for the clubhouse and golf course than the pool. There’s a cadre of middle-aged women doing swim-aerobics in the shallow end of the pool and a few people spotted here or there on the pool chairs, but other than that the pool is empty. The Top Pop piping in thinly through the speakers at the entrance is barely loud enough to be heard over the aerobics instructor’s voice giving out instructions.

“Wow, okay,” Niall says, breaking the silence that’s settled between them. “I’m going to go, uh...is ‘cool down’ inappropriate to say?”

Louis snorts, then lets out a breathless sort of chuckle that always gets Liam going, and when Liam laughs, Niall does too, and then Zayn feels like the odd one out if he isn’t also laughing, so he cracks a smile.

Niall leaves to go into the pool and Zayn glances up, catches the lifeguard with his sunglasses down enough to get a glimpse of his eyes, looking over their way.

-

Zayn doesn’t engineer it on purpose, he just has to use the restroom. If he noticed that the lifeguard had abandoned his perch and loped off the way of the restrooms as well, well. That was just a coincidence. Completely.

“Oh!” The lifeguard’s voice is a lot deeper than Zayn expected. Low and sort of slow, like dripping honey. His eyes are also green, and big, wider from being startled at Zayn standing outside the restroom when he walks out. “Hi?”

“Hello.” Zayn is leaned against the wall opposite the bathroom door. His trunks are hanging low off his hips and he knows he looks good—which, it’s not vain to think that, no matter how much Louis makes fun of him, because it’s important to take pride in self-grooming—so it’s not surprising when the lifeguard’s gaze dips down before coming back up.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to take up the loo.” He looks a little flushed, over the bridge of his nose, but it could just be sunburn. Zayn hasn’t seen him use zinc any of the times they’ve come to the pool.

Zayn pushes away from the wall. “It’s okay. No rush.” He moves closer to the lifeguard, smiles in that way that always has girls giggling and twisting their hair around their fingers. “What’s your name? Don’t think I’ve seen you around before this summer.”

The lifeguard licks his bottom lip, which is just as plump as it was when he was doing unspeakable things to his dessert, so it must be a usual thing. “Harry. Harry Styles. I’d never been to this club before I got the job. Worked at a bakery, last summer? So this was a bit of a switch.” Harry talks slow, words stretched out like he has to really think about the next one before he says it. Babbles a bit, too.

Zayn wants to know if he babbles just as much when he comes.

“Well, Harry,” Zayn says, taking another step closer and pressing against Harry’s side. “I’m Zayn. If you ever want to hang out when you’re not working, the lads and I are usually here.” He steps away from Harry, goes to the bathroom. “See you around,” he calls over his shoulder.

-

Louis lets out a low whistle when Zayn comes back and tells them what he’s done. “You’re a smooth operator, Malik,” he says, sounding genuinely impressed. “No wonder you’re always rolling in birds.”

Zayn shrugs, but he’s pretty pleased with himself. Harry had been up on his tower when Zayn got back, but Zayn knows he’s looked over a couple times since Zayn sat down. “I do what I can.” 

What he can involves stretching out on his chaise, lifting his hips up a few times to get comfortable and in the right position. He doesn’t have to look over to know Harry’s watching.

-

“Uh.”

Zayn opens his eyes, shades them automatically with his hand and turns to look at the side. Harry is standing over him, knees red and knobby, feet turned in so that his toes are touching each other. When Zayn drags his gaze up, he sees Harry sort of hunched over, baby pudge easier to see, from here, and arms behind his back, like he’s clutching his hands behind himself. He’s staring sort of awkwardly down at Zayn and when Zayn finally looks at his face, he’s definitely flushed, brows furrowed.

“Er. You fell asleep, and your friends all left. They said that you fall asleep all the time, and that I should just leave you here, but the pool is closing and I have to kick you out?” He sounds apologetic.

Zayn stretches, letting the kinks out of his body. These damn pool chairs are ungodly uncomfortable, but he has the ability to fall asleep anywhere. It’s rude that the lads didn’t wake him up before they left, but it possibly worked in his own favour, as well.

“Does that mean you’re free to get off?” Zayn asks, sitting up. 

He knows exactly what he’s said, has to stop himself from grinning when Harry’s eyes widen and the flush over the bridge of his nose spreads to his cheeks. It’s cute how innocent he acts up close. Maybe it’s the height of the tower that makes him feel bold enough to be naughty.

“I, um. Have to put stuff away, first?” 

Harry has a habit of asking instead of telling. Zayn likes it. He wonders if Harry trips over his words with other people, if that’s how he usually talks, or if it’s reserved for when he’s flustered. Zayn would like to learn a lot of things about Harry, if he’s being completely honest. How he talks is pretty low on the priority list.

“I can help if you’d like.” Zayn is a helpful sort of chap. Louis might laugh at him describing himself that way, but Louis can shove it.

“No, that’s okay. It’s my job, I can do it.” Harry looks earnest, and he’s smiling. There’s a dimple in his left cheek that Zayn wants to bite. 

Zayn gets out of his chair, smiles back. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. You’ll get done quicker if I help. Isn’t that better?”

Harry looks dubious—his face is ridiculously expressive—but he concedes. “You can go collect the pool floaties. I’ll check the water levels.” He trots off to do just that and Zayn gets to watch his bum as he goes, which is a win-win situation for both of them. Harry bends over the pool to fish out the thermometer and Zayn shakes his head, makes himself look away to go over to the pool toys.

He gathers them all up and heads over to the building marked ‘pool house’. The door is already open, so Zayn nudges his way inside, arms loaded with toys. He dumps them in a crate half-full of the things. 

The noise startles Harry and he turns his head, smiling at Zayn when he spots him. He’s bent over the desk, writing what Zayn can only assume are the pool levels onto a sheet of paper clipped into a black binder.

“Done?” he asks.

Zayn nods, reaches out his arm to push the door shut. “Hey.”

Harry puts his pen down, turning around fully to look at him. He licks over his bottom lip quickly before biting it. When he lets go, his lip is pinker than before, fuller, and Zayn makes a low, distressed noise.

“Fuck, you’re like the worst cocktease ever,” he grits out, moving closer to Harry and the desk.

“Sorry,” Harry says. He doesn’t sound particularly sorry at all. He’s grinning, leaning back against the desk with his legs spread, like an invitation. Like the innocent thing is just an act. Maybe it’s not. Maybe he just wasn’t sure how to react until Zayn said something outright. “Are you going to discipline me?”

Zayn’s cock goes from interested to hard quick enough to make him a bit dizzy. “Is that what you want?” He finally moves in between Harry’s legs, slots them together so that he can feel that Harry’s in the same position he is. Not that he had to wonder—Harry’s little red shorts leave very little to the imagination. Zayn puts his hands on Harry’s thighs, runs them up and over his hips, up his sides and skips over his shoulders to palm his neck. Harry is looking up at him, eyes wide and so very green, flush working over his cheeks while he gnaws on his bottom lip.

Harry surges up, suddenly, not answering his question, catching Zayn’s mouth with his own in a kiss that’s far too off-centre to be good. It still is, though. Somehow. Harry’s bottom lip is slick from where he’s been licking it and he parts his mouth quickly when Zayn licks over the indents. Harry’s mouth is warm and sweet and tastes of cherry. Everything smells of chlorine but it’s not bad. Doesn’t even really notice once Harry groans and starts to rut against him, cock pressing against Zayn’s through their shorts.

“ _Finally_ ,” Harry says after Zayn pulls away. “You’re so fit, I've been thinking about this since the first time I saw you walk by.” He’s still thrusting against Zayn, like he can’t even help himself.

“The mouth on you,” Zayn groans. He puts his hands in Harry’s curls, tugs on the ones just behind his ears and is rewarded with a gasp and a sharp thrust forward. “What’ve you thought about?” he asks, wants desperately to know.

Harry shakes his head, but he’s not saying no, he’s just overwhelmed. “I want to blow you. Want to ride you on that stupid chaise. Want you to fuck me.”

“I can do that.” Zayn lets go of Harry’s curls, slides his hand down Harry’s warm back to palm his arse. “Do you have anything?”

Harry nods wildly, this time, unclenching one hand from around the lip of the desk to open the top drawer by his leg. He smacks around blindly, not moving his head from where he’s sucking bruises onto Zayn’s neck, and pulls out a Vaseline jar. He presses it against Zayn’s chest. “This’ll work.”

It will. It _definitely_ will. Zayn pulls away from Harry just enough to get his shorts off and unscrew the jar. The Vaseline is thick and cold against his fingers, but there’s nothing he can do about that. Harry has managed to shimmy out of his shorts and get himself turned around. He bends over the desk, legs spread and arse in the air and Zayn curses.

“Fuck, just look at you,” he says, running his clean hand down Harry’s back, over his small, pert bum. Harry shivers, makes a soft noise and presses back into his touch, so Zayn brings his Vaseline-covered fingers to Harry’s pink little hole, spreads it over him before pressing one finger in.

Harry is tight and hot and wiggles his hips when Zayn touches him, like he can’t get enough of it. Zayn can’t get enough of it, either. He goes back with two fingers, quickly, scissoring them to stretch Harry open and Harry moans, ragged and fucked out. He’s got his arms stretched out to the sides, fingers gripping the ends of the desk so hard his knuckles are white.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Harry gasps, tightening around Zayn’s fingers when he pulls them out.

“You don’t need more?” Zayn asks. He’s already smoothing more Vaseline over his dick, hard and leaking at the tip, ready to be inside. But most boys he’s with need more than two fingers for a few minutes.

“Just _fuck_ me, God.” Harry spreads his legs wider and that’s all the convincing Zayn needs.

He holds his cock steady with one hand, rubs the head against Harry’s hole until he can’t stand it anymore and pushes in. He goes slow, just as overwhelmed as Harry sounds, gasping against the desk and clenching down around him. Harry is hot and tighter around him than he thought possible. There’s no way it’s going to last, not feeling this good. 

Zayn tries to keep it slow, but he can’t, not with the way Harry whines and pushes back against him, arse tight and perfect. His thrusts pick up, quick and hard, slamming Harry’s hips against the desk. Zayn gets his hand under Harry’s stomach, wraps it around his cock and tugs him at the same pace as his thrusts. Harry lets out a keen, fingers scrambling against the edges of the desk, and it only takes a few more strokes before he comes, entire body shuddering then tightening around Zayn’s dick.

“Fuck.” Zayn grabs Harry’s hips, can’t pay attention to the mess he’s likely making and fucks into Harry harder. It’s not going to last, there’s no way he can hold out any longer, but Harry feels so _good_ and he doesn’t want it to end.

Harry flails out with one hand before finding him and he grips onto Zayn’s thigh, fingers digging in enough to hurt, and that’s it. That’s enough for Zayn to come, pressing his hips forward as he spills inside Harry. 

He pulls out and plops down on the floor, breathing heavily. The sight of Harry, spread out on the desk, legs still apart, hole pink and swollen and shiny is enough to make Zayn’s cock twitch, but it’s far too soon to go again.

Harry reaches back and rubs two fingers over himself, and that makes Zayn groan.

“You can’t do that unless you want me to fuck you again,” he says.

“I wouldn’t say no.” Harry turns around, legs wobbly like he can’t stand properly. His cheeks are red and a little wet but Zayn doesn’t mention it. “That was great.”

Zayn grins. “Yeah.”

Harry leans back against the desk and grins back. There’s no way they can leave before cleaning that up. It stinks like come and sex, not even the chlorine can mask it. “You wanna help me again tomorrow?”

“You gonna suck my cock the way you sucked that ice lolly?” Zayn’s cock is starting to feel interested in the proceedings, again.

Harry’s smile widens and he licks his bottom lip. Slowly.


End file.
